


Dawnbreak

by monoidea



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoidea/pseuds/monoidea
Summary: A not too sober Flynn accidentally makes a wish.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Kudos: 47
Collections: Fairshaw Week 2020





	Dawnbreak

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #FairshawWeek 2020 prompt Day 3: Drink.

"It's not fair, Shaw!" Flynn whined, staggering. He just threw up whatever his poor stomach contained while Shaw stood beside him and held his pony tail out of the way, throwing in a few reassuring pats on his back with the intent to lessen his suffering. Flynn was outright miserable, his mouth tasting too much like acid, his throat was burning and his head pounded like a caravan of elekks stomped over it.  
"I want to help you puke just once. You wouldn't laugh then!" Shaw wasn't laughing though, he just stood there with a frown. Flynn looked as if he had something more to say, but another wave of nausea hit him and he keeled over. He coughed up bile and saliva, accompanied by awful sounds. Again Shaw held his hair, all the while remaining silent. Flynn wouldn't remember much the next day, so he had long given up on saying anything of value when he was at this state.

***

The lights of Boralus were twinkling on the horizon, guiding the Middenwake home. Some champions decided to go for an island expedition in the evening, and Flynn and his crew were at their beck and call. The members of his crew had a sleepy look on their faces, and Flynn couldn't blame them, all he wanted to was fall in his creaky bed face-forward and succumb to dreamless slumber. When they arrived in the port, one of the champions handed him a roll of paper, muttering something about the Worldvein, and the idea of sleep left Flynn abruptly. He had to give the report to Shaw, he was specially tasked with it. He glanced at his pocket-watch (coincidentally a gift from Shaw) and saw it was 3 in the morning. There were chances Shaw would be awake at this hour, and if not Flynn would wake him with a kiss, pull him out of his bed, hand him the report and he would take his place. Shaw's bed was comfortable, and it would be warmed up in advance. It sounded heavenly. He arrived on the Redemption's board with long strides. Two agents stood there, confused at his sudden appearance.  
"Something urgent for Master Shaw." he felt the need to clarify himself.  
"The Spymaster isn't here." said one of the agents solemnly.  
"Commander Wyrmbane?" again, he was met with a shake of the head. Flynn was running out of people he could give the report to.  
"General Feathermoon?" Negatory.  
"Where in the blazes they are?" Flynn asked finally, with a hint of desperation in his tone.  
This time the other agent spoke. His voice was wistful, later Flynn realized that the man was skulking because-  
"They are celebrating."

_Celebrating, eh?_

Flynn threw the door open to Snug Harbor inn with a loud kick. His entrance had barely any effect. The Seventh Legion were indeed there, but they weren't celebrating anymore. Most of them were out cold, or barely able to stand. To unknown eyes, it would seem as if the whole bunch got poisoned. In a corner, there were attempts made to maintain a conversation, but it was mostly incoherent slurs. Flynn looked at the soldiers, searching for a certain group of people until his eyes landed on a pink-haired gnome sleeping soundly on one of the tables. That was a lead. Next to her on a chair, a shirtless man sat, singing softly and staring blankly ahead, whose name Flynn always forgot. Shandris sat nearby, nursing a tea, or not tea but that definitely was a teacup, looking totally unaffected by the events, but deep in her own thoughts. Then there sat two men staring at each other in a silent battle. One he knew, he could recognize the short red hair and moustache everywhere. The other was an unknown middle-aged man with dark hair and dark moustache and Flynn was a hundred percent sure he had seen him somewhere before. The men seemed to be almost sober, were it not for the weird staring match they played with eyes glazed over.  
"Sit down Fairwind" Shaw commanded, and Flynn wondered how he knew that it was him who stood there. Well, he wasn't the Spymaster for nothing. He did as he was told, once more looking around in the room, taking in the devastated state of the patrons. He then shifted his attention to the vicious battle of the two men. It was indeed a staring match, he realized. He found it amusing to watch, albeit it got a bit boring after a few minutes. He cheered for the other guy, because Shaw sat there like a stone, immobile except for his even breathing. At odd times his moustache twitched a bit, but that was all. And that wasn't fair. His opponent was clearly suffering, and Flynn could only feel sympathy for him. He almost felt sad when a stray fly decided to land on his nose, and the unknown man's eyes glittered both from dryness and desperation. Flynn made a dismayed sound when the fly skittered down his nostrils and disappeared within he dark moustache then ascended into his nose. The man's face scrunched up and he sneezed loudly. With that, he lost the match. No doubt the fly had a great deal in it. Flynn wondered absent-mindedly whether the fly was Shaw's agent or not.

Shaw let out a long sigh, looking smug. He still didn't blink, even though the match was over.  
His opponent blinked rapidly and fumbled for a handkerchief to blow his nose. A small part of Flynn wanted to know about the fly's fate. Shaw looked at Fairwind, his face kinder than usual.  
"You look like shit," he said. Flynn had to close his eyes to comprehend that sentence.  
"Good to see you too" he replied. Shaw didn't seem drunk at first sight, but Flynn was no fool. He managed to study his face enough beforehand to notice the minute differences. His eyes were dilated and tinted a bit red, there was a faint blush on his cheeks, and his face was unguarded, even the hint of scorn was missing. Something was off with his composure too, his shoulders seemed less rigid but that may have been only due to the lack of the ridiculous pauldrons. The biggest giveaway though was the number of empty tin-cups on the table. One of the cups still had some dark brown substance in it. Flynn licked his lips at the sight of it.  
"Why are you here?" Shaw asked. Very friendly.  
"This." Flynn held up the parchment of paper he had been holding for more than an hour now. He was pretty sure it was all wet with the sweat of his hand by now.  
"Worldvein?" Flynn nodded.  
"First thing in the morning." Shaw wasn't one for an idle chat, especially when drunk. Part of Flynn ached with the pain of not being present when the celebration started. He wanted to witness the process of Shaw descending to his current state. He was outright jealous, to be honest.  
Shaw's defeated opponent was still trying to blow his nose and Flynn suspected the fly ventured beyond reach.  
"Now, Wyrmbane, I'm leaving. I leave the rest to you." Shaw looked at the drunk soldiers scattered around the room.  
"Wyrmbane?" Flynn didn't mean to let that slip out, but he was taken by surprise.  
Wyrmbane stared at him from beneath his handkerchief with a questioning look. Flynn realized his mistake and tried to salvage the conversation.  
"Ah, it's you- You know. Without the helmet-thing." Flynn gestured vaguely at his own head trying to mimic Wyrmbane's helmet. It didn't help, in fact, it made the situation worse, and earned him an even more confused look. But then commander ignored him because Shaw stood.  
"Shaw, please, I need your help." Wyrmbane pleaded.  
"No." Drunk Shaw said. "You lost, fair and square. You do the cleanup." Shaw made to exit, but Flynn sat in his way.  
"Captain, you wish to stay?" Shaw asked impatiently. Flynn startled because he was too busy confiscating Shaw's last drink.  
"Erm, no?"  
"Then let's go."

Shaw was walking straight. Flynn was somewhat amazed at that. His gait was swift, seemingly steady and Flynn had to hurry to catch up with him. But then Shaw started swerving left with each step and Flynn had to catch him.  
"Whoa there mate."  
Shaw stopped then.  
"Not your mate." Flynn let out an involuntary gasp. He tried not to take the offense to his heart. He tried to reason with himself that drunk Shaw was a rude Shaw, and it was only the alcohol speaking. But in the back of his mind echoed a saying he heard somewhere a lifetime ago. What soberness conceals, drunkenness reveals.  
There was a heavy silence between them.  
"I'm your _man._ " Shaw corrected, taking his time with the syllables.  
"Right." Flynn breathed. He could barely suppress his sudden joy. Warmth was spreading in his chest.  
They attempted walking once more, but Shaw was still steering left, pulling both of them off-track. Then he stopped Flynn abruptly, holding onto his lapels tightly.  
Their faces were close, and Flynn looked at him curiously. He assumed Shaw wanted to kiss him. But he didn't. He whispered instead.  
"Your wish is coming true, Fairwind."  
With that, he let go of Flynn's coat and with a few unsure steps, he went to the other side of the road. He bent down and started puking. Flynn was confused for a moment but then he remembered. He laughed and scrambled to help his man.

**Author's Note:**

> Hands on your heart. Would _you_ recognize Wyrmbane without his helmet?


End file.
